


Takotsubo

by ineswrites



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 18:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11537631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineswrites/pseuds/ineswrites
Summary: Jack is transported to the Raft without finding out what happened to Brock. The cell that is to become his forever home is so tiny, he’s very lucky he’s not a claustrophobic. There’s nothing left to do but think. Being alone with his mind 24/7 is a greater torment than anything his interrogators could ever come up with.





	Takotsubo

**Author's Note:**

> Remember that movie, Captain America: Civil War? I fixed it.
> 
> Takotsubo – a Japanese octopus trap.  
> Takotsubo cardiomyopathy – a cardiomyopathy also known as a broken heart syndrome.

They give him a fair trial, or so they say. It would be if it wasn’t a bunch of hypocrites judging him. Three weeks ago, Jack Rollins was a respected commanding officer of SHIELD’s STRIKE team. Now, he’s a criminal because of his organization’s name. Funny how everybody was excited about Insight until Captain America said Hydra.

A rose by any other name doesn’t smell as sweet, it turns out.

The trial is long and mostly boring, but it does have its moments. Councilman Singh’s testimony for example. Jack watches in amusement as he retells the events of that faithful day with all his righteous fury.

“Alexander Pierce described Insight as a switch that could stop any evil from happening all around the globe.”

“He was not wrong,” Jack says and is promptly shushed by the judge.

“He tried to convince me to join him,” Singh continues, sounding offended. “To flick his switch.”

Jack almost bursts in laughter at the phrase “flick his switch”, but instead he asks, “And what did you say to him?”

He remembers what Singh said. “Not if it was your switch.” Not buying weapons because he doesn’t like the seller, not because he doesn’t want the weapons. If being a hypocrite was a crime, Hydra would take over the world, because everybody else would be in jail.

He gets a warning for disrupting the testimony, but he doesn’t care. He’s under no illusion about being sentenced for life, so what does it matter?

Rogers is there, annoying as always, with his permanent frown of disapproval. The biggest hypocrite of them all. Doesn’t care who lives and who dies as long as he’s the one in the right. Jack thinks about women being violated just this second. Kids being forced to smuggle guns. Suffering of the innocents Insight would have stopped. And what does Captain America focus on? A trial of a “traitor to the state”. It makes Jack physically sick just to look at him. Only Hydra was brave enough to do something about it, whatever the means. The rest of those self-righteous pricks that unfortunately hold the power prefer to pretend the problem doesn’t exist.

Some names come up. McKinnon and Murphy, who fled. Jack knows, because he was questioned about their possible whereabouts. Westfahl, who’s dead. His interrogators gladly threw that information in his face, excitedly watching for his reaction. They didn’t like the one they got. The pain in his jaw still reminds him of that. Mercer shows up in person, her wrists in cuffs. She doesn’t look at Jack when she talks and he understands that. He had to testify against her two days ago as well.

One name doesn’t come up, the only one Jack desperately wants to hear. Nobody even mentions Rumlow. He hasn’t heard that name since he came to, lying on the ground before the ruins of the Triskelion, with his chest and head pounding and wrists zip-tied. Nobody asked him where he was. Nobody told him he was dead with a satisfactory grin on their face. Jack figures they must have him, there is no other explanation. But if they had, wouldn’t he be here? Wouldn’t Jack have to testify against him, too?

Those questions are never answered, and Jack is transported to the Raft without finding out what happened to Brock.

 

\--

 

The cell that is to become his forever home is so tiny, Jack’s very lucky he’s not a claustrophobic. There’s a cot, a toilet and a sink. The door is glass, so everybody can see what he’s doing every time of day and night. Meals come three times a day. They’re not half bad.

At first, Jack counts days. He can’t help it. The prison is underwater, there is no daylight, and he eventually gets lost around the fifteenth day (or is it sixteenth?). Then he starts living from meal to meal. He counts up to twenty-seventh before he gets lost as well.

He tries not to think about his parents, what they think of him, nor about his twin sister Dina, what happened to her, nor about Brock. He’s been blessed with an excellent memory, so he passes time watching movies in his head. Movies he saw alone, movies he watched with Brock, movies he and Dina obsessed about when they were younger. When he runs out of movies, he recalls videos he recorded with his cell phone.

 

\--

 

_Brock stares up into the camera with a small smile tugging at his lips. He’s lying on his back on the bed, shirtless._

_“You done?” he asks. He frowns a little. “Are you recording?”_

_He smiles again in amusement, reaches out for the camera. Jack raises it just out of his reach, enough for it to capture the naked curve of Brock’s hips._

_“Gimme that.” Brock’s voice is laced with irritation, but he’s still smiling. He props himself up on his hand and the camera shakes and changes the angle as he pulls Jack to himself. “I’ll give you something to record.”_

_The video ends._

 

\--

 

_Brock’s in their bedroom, dressed as Captain America. The suit isn’t like the one Captain Rogers wears. It’s bright colors and little wings on either side of his head._

_“You look like an idiot,” says Jack’s voice._

_Brock turns around to face him, offers a shit-eating grin. “Oh, yeah? I think you’re just jealous.”_

_“Why would I be jealous?”_

_“Because—” Brock lunges for him, and for a moment all that can be seen are colorful smudges as they wrestle for the camera. “I’m the hero, and you’re the villain.”_

_The view steadies on Jack’s face, covered with a Red Skull mask. He’s standing in the doorway, arms folded on his chest._

_“We’re a perfect couple.” Brock chuckles._

_“We’re ridiculous. Why couldn’t we just go as pirates like last year?”_

_“You hated those.”_

_“I hate these more.”_

_\--_

_Brock looks like someone straight out of Baywatch with his perfect body and usually perfect hair now wet, as he walks out of the ocean, the droplets of water on his skin glistening in the full sun. He approaches the camera and looks down into it._

_“Put that down,” he says, his voice not devoid of this commanding tone he usually applies when they’re at work. “Come swim with me.”_

_“I don’t wanna,” says Jack’s voice._

_Brock bends down and Jack lowers the camera. All that can be seen are Brock’s wet thighs as they kiss off screen._

_“It’ll be alright,” Brock mutters._

_“I know, I just don’t feel like it.”_

_“Liar.” Another smacking noise. “Come.”_

_The recording ends._

\--

 

When he runs out of the videos and there’s nothing else in his head to entertain him, there’s nothing left to do but think.

His thoughts flow towards Brock naturally. After all, he spent a good part of his life unable to think about anything else.

He wonders what happened to him. During his first days here, he still had a sliver of hope someone would come and tell him. He imagined the many ways it could go and tried to prepare himself for every eventuality, because really, the alternative was to watch “Léon: The Professional” (what he did anyway later).

He always imagined it’d be Rogers coming to his cell, though he knew he wasn’t important enough for Captain America himself to bother. It was easier to imagine him than some faceless, nameless person. He believed they hated each other strongly enough to obtain some sick pleasure out of this meeting.

 

\--

 

_Rogers stands in front of the glass door in all of his Captain America glory, a frown distorting his handsome baby face. Jack gets up and approaches the glass, towering over him. In reality, they’re about the same size, but it’s Jack’s imagination, so he’s allowed to cheat._

_“Rollins,” Rogers says, because no matter how much he hates somebody, he still has manners._

_Jack doesn’t have manners, so he doesn’t respond, only raises his eyebrow like he’s annoyed. Like a visit from_ anybody _isn’t a highlight of his day._

_“Where’s Rumlow?” Rogers asks._

_Jack smiles and revels at Rogers’ fury, his helplessness, because Brock fled, he’s out there, and Rogers wants him, but he won’t get him, not from Jack, not from anybody._

_\--_

_“Rollins.”_

_Jack doesn’t respond, only raises his eyebrow._

_“We believe you have information we need.”_

_“I thought Black Widow dumped everything on the Internet? I couldn’t hear the end of it. The guys that interrogated me practically jerked off over it.”_

_“But not everything was on Hydra’s intranet, was it?”_

_Jack bites down a smirk. “I didn’t talk before, why do you think I’ll talk now?”_

_“Because we have Rumlow.”_

_Jack’s face stays perfectly neutral, but his heart’s pounding. He wonders if Rogers’ sensitive hearing can pick it up._

_Rogers smiles in triumph. “Yes, we have him. Not here, the judge decided he doesn’t deserve the luxury. Can you imagine a place worse than this?”_

_Jack can imagine Rogers being cruel just because he can, but he can’t imagine a prison worse than the Raft. Perhaps if the Raft had violent, brutal guards. That could be better than worse though. Would break the routine somehow, keep him from going bonkers._

_He hates Rogers for knowing him so well, knowing it’s mentioning Rumlow that’ll work and not promises about shortening his sentence, or moving him to a nicer prison. He loves Brock more than he does himself, or even Hydra, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for him._

_“What do you wanna know?”_

_\--_

_“Rollins.”_

_Jack doesn’t respond, only raises his eyebrow._

_“Rumlow’s dead.”_

_He doesn’t wonder why Rogers is telling him this. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. He heard it’s possible to die of a broken heart. He waits for it to happen._

_\--_

That last scenario plagues his nightmares, to the point he’s afraid to fall asleep. He lies wide awake for hours in complete darkness, the stress of not knowing what happened to Brock, if he’s even alive, slowly driving him insane.

He tells himself it’s better not to know. It’s like with Schrödinger’s cat – as long as he doesn’t know, Brock is dead and alive at the same time. And that’s better than just dead.

But after three sleepless nights, he’s an emotional wreck and would rather hear the worst news than none. It’d bring him peace. Maybe he’d sleep normally again.

He’s almost hundred percent positive Brock’s not dead, though. He’s not sure how, but he just knows. He’d feel something if Brock died. The world would be different. He’d _know_. He’s sure of that.

And it’s unlikely he fled. They’d ask about it. Unless they knew he wouldn’t tell. Then better to torture him via not telling him anything. Everybody was very careful not to mention Brock’s name on the trial, though it should have come up. At least Mercer should have mentioned him.

If they had him, he would have to testify against Jack. So either they didn’t have him, or he was badly hurt. Comatose, even. The Trisk was left in ruins, it wasn’t impossible. Maybe he was too hurt to testify, and then he died when Jack was already in the Raft. That was a possibility, too.

He shakes his head. Brock’s not dead. He’d know if he was.

When the words “Rumlow’s dead” turn from a fear to something desirable, his mind finds a new way to torment him. His dreams become nightmares only after he wakes up.

 

\--

 

_He wakes up in their bedroom. The Raft was just a nightmare. Brock is still snoring beside him, and he wants to kiss the living daylights out of him, but instead he gets up and goes to make coffee. The smell is what lures Brock to the kitchen. He smiles at Jack, his eyes still half-lidded, his hair sticking out in every direction. Jack hands him a steaming cup, and he makes a pleased sound, takes a sip and wraps his arm around Jack’s waist._

_“You’re…”_

_Jack never finds out what he is. Brock’s mind doesn’t work so well yet._

_Jack leans in to kiss him. His lips are bitter from coffee. Jack can’t get enough of them._

_“Let’s stay in today,” he murmurs when Brock pulls away and begins to sip his coffee._

_Brock looks up at him, confused. “Are you kidding me? It’s today. We’re needed.”_

_Jack gulps. Insight launches today._

_“I have a bad feeling about this.”_

_Brock smirks. “Nightmares again? Don’t worry. Today will be amazing.”_

_He downs his coffee. Jack pulls him close before he leaves to get ready for the day._

_“Let’s stay. Please.”_

_Brock examines his face. He’s not smiling anymore._

_“Jack, we can’t. We’re needed. I need you there. Can I count on you?”_

_Jack feels his voice will fail him, so he just nods. Brock pulls him in for another kiss._

_“But we can’t get separated,” Jack says when they part. “Promise me.”_

_They don’t get separated until Jack wakes up back in his cell._

_\--_

_“Merry Christmas.” Jack hands Brock a box of chocolates._

_“Marzipan chocolates,” Brock says, unimpressed._

_“Yeah, your favorite.”_

_“I hate them, and you know it.” Brock puts the box down on the kitchen counter. “I have something for you, too.”_

_“Do you, now?”_

_Brock pulls him in and kisses him. “Me.”_

_Jack smirks. “I have that anyway.”_

_Brock pokes his chest. “Don’t you dare take me for granted.”_

_And isn’t that just well said._

_\--_

_Jack ducks his head at the sound of another explosion. He’s dragging Brock away from a collapsed building. Brock is barely limping behind him, blood pouring from holes in his body that shouldn’t be there._

_“Collins?” he’s yelling to his mic. “Bourne? Anybody?!”_

_“Westfahl,” comes a strangled voice in Jack’s earpiece._

_Brock stops, digs his heels into the ground, forcing Jack to stop, too. Chunks of cinderblock hit the ground before their feet._

_“Westfahl, where are you?!”_

_“I’m trapped.”_

_“Where exactly?” Brock turns to go back and Jack grabs his arm, stops him._

_“We can’t go back for him!” he yells over another explosion._

_“We don’t leave men behind!” Brock snaps back, his eyes burning, though with so much blood lost, he should be close to fainting and not fighting._

_“Look at you! Collins and Bourne are dead, I can’t lose you, too!”_

_“Westfahl is my team!” Brock jerks his arm out of Jack’s grasp and glares at him._

_And Jack knows he has to give up because Brock’s team is a family he never had._

_“Okay,” he says. “But you’re staying here. I’ll bring him back to you.”_

_Brock nods. He knows he’s in a bad state._

_Jack walks back into hell they just escaped to bring their brother back. Both of Westfahl’s legs are broken, so he carries him on his back._

_“Thank you,” Westfahl mutters. “Thank you.”_

_“Thank Brock, you’d die there if it was up to me.”_

_“Thank you, boss,” Westfahl whispers._

_Brock smiles._

_Why’s he smiling? Westfahl’s dead._

_\--_

Jack wakes up with tears leaking from his eyes. All this time – months? – he hasn’t properly mourned. At first, he didn’t want to give his enemies the satisfaction of seeing him down, then his concern about Brock successfully distracted him. Now, he curls in his cot, sobbing like a baby. Not only after Westfahl, but also Brock, Mercer, himself, Insight, Hydra. He doesn’t care the corner camera’s eye must have a perfect view on him.

He stops sleeping. When he loses the fight with his body and starts dreaming again, he stops eating. Another day he wakes up with an IV in his vein. They’re determined to keep him alive. He stops fighting. He only wishes he could turn off his brain.

He fantasizes about what Brock’s doing to get rid of dark thoughts. In his little daydreams, Brock’s always free. Sometimes he’s with Murphy and McKinnon. They still work for Hydra in secret. Because Hydra must still be active, they were too big to be destroyed by the fall of Insight.

When he gets bored of that, he imagines what their life would be like if Insight worked. He plans their wedding. There was a ring in Jack’s drawer. He wonders what happened to it.

The memory of Brock’s face slowly fades to a blur. Jack wonders if he ever even existed at all. Maybe Hydra planted him in Jack’s head to ensure his loyalty. A devoted to Hydra commander who he’d follow to Hell and back. The idea doesn’t seem so crazy after what feels like fifty years of being alone with just his mind. They had the equipment. They could have done it.

 

\--

 

In a prison as stagnant as the Raft, where the highlight of the day is a meal, a new prisoner being brought in is a pretty big event. The prisoners move to their glass doors to take a good look before returning to whatever they were doing (usually, it’s nothing).

So when Jack hears footsteps and chains, and sees the prisoners on the other side raise from their cots, he also stands up and looks out his door. Two guards are leading a man, his wrists and ankles cuffed. His head is turned as he looks at the prisoners on the other side, some of them banging at him like at a fish in an aquarium – Jack can’t blame them, they must burn their energy somehow. Jack’s eyes roam over the man’s form and his heartbeat speeds up. He tells himself it’s because he’s been lonely for a very long time, and not because this man seems familiar.

The man turns his head Jack’s way, and Jack’s taken aback by his face, deformed by white waxy burn scars. His jaw is clenched tight until his hazel eyes land on Jack. The tension seeps away from his face and he smiles. Jack’s mouth goes dry.

It’s Brock. Doesn’t look like him, but it’s him.

Blood’s pounding in Jack’s head when the guards stop in front of the cell right next to his. They uncuff Brock and push him inside. Jack stares at the wall that separates them, his mind screaming.

He hears knocking. Brock’s knocking at him. He raises his fist to knock back before he notices it’s a pattern. It takes him another moment to realize it’s Morse code.

He rests his forehead on the wall and laughs. He doesn’t know why, he just really feels like laughing for some reason.

Maybe that’s what happiness used to feel like.

Not having received an answer, Brock starts knocking again and Jack turns attentive.

HOW R U?

Smile still tugging at his lips, instead of answering, he knocks the only thing on his mind.

ILU

2, comes the answer.

 

\--

 

Jack takes the pillow and the blanket from his cot and lays it down on the floor beside the wall to be that much closer to Brock. He’s slept on the floor before, so it’s not a problem.

It takes Brock a whole day of knocking to describe what was going on with him after the Fall. He was crushed by burning debris – Jack’s whole body aches whenever he thinks about it – and it’s a miracle he survived. He’s been in a coma for about four months. Escaped as soon as he came to and reassessed his situation. He’s been doing mercenary work since. Jack knows Brock tweaks the story, that there’s a lot of pain, recuperation and rehabilitation in between, but of course Brock I’m-Fine Rumlow doesn’t mention such petty details.

When Jack asks about Hydra, Brock replies, fuck them. He doesn’t understand, but doesn’t ask any further. It’s not Hydra’s fault everything went to shit.

Brock tells him McKinnon’s dead. It’s like a punch to the gut, and Jack sits still with his fingers pressed to his eyes for a few minutes before he gathers the strength to ask about Murphy. Nobody knows, Brock replies. Jack tells him about Mercer. Brock says he knows.

After exchanging all the valuable information, their conversations become lighter. Jack’s never talked so much in his life. He doesn’t need a pointless chitchat to enjoy spending time with people, but in this situation, just sitting with his side pressed against the wall simply isn’t enough. His knuckles are chafed and bleeding, but it’s a sweet kind of pain. He usually answers with just a prosign for understood anyway, it’s Brock who keeps complaining about food, his cot, the scratchy blankets, the clothes that irritate his skin. He complains about his skin a lot. Never mentions he’s in pain, but Jack knows he is. He doesn’t know if Brock’s allowed painkillers, and even if, it’s probably a minimal amount that doesn’t do him much good.

He doesn’t have to wait long for Brock to start talking dirty to him. For the first time in two years, he feels arousal. A real one, not the physiological need like in the mornings. His body burns for Brock’s touch, and he’s almost desperate enough to fuck the wall that separates them.

Sometimes at night, when he lies wide awake, the pain in his back and his hand not letting him drift off, he can hear Brock’s moans. He closes his eyes and imagines Brock lying right beside him.

Sometimes, he responds with his own.

 

\--

 

Jack hears chains first, footsteps later. A lot of footsteps. It means a lot of prisoners being brought in.

He looks outside his door and gawks. Because he knows two of the three prisoners being led to their cells. The first one is Clint Barton. The other one is Captain America’s black friend, the one Brock almost killed and who’s apparently an Avenger now. Or. Was.

The prisoners are more interested than usual. They yell obscenities. Some bang on the glass doors harder than they normally do. Others just look confused. Jack and Brock speculate about what’s going on for three days before it becomes boring and they get back to more pleasant topics.

 

\--

 

 

When Jack hears footsteps echoing in the corridor, he dismisses it, thinking it’s just the guard with their meals. Then he realizes they already had dinner, and the footsteps don’t stop even for a second. Brock knocks for him to look as he stands up to do just that.

There’s Rogers stopping in front of Barton’s cell. And he’s not alone.

Brock starts banging on the glass with the heel of his hand.

“Asset!” he calls, the way an owner would call to his dog after years of absence. “Asset!”

The Asset, dressed in civilian clothes, with a baseball cap on his head, turns to look. His frown softens when he recognizes Brock. Rogers hears him, too, and he spares him a glare before returning to his talk with Barton. He doesn’t notice – or at least he doesn’t react – when the Asset leaves his side and crosses the corridor to stop in front of Brock’s cell.

“Hey, Asset,” Brock says gently, and Jack can easily imagine a pleased smile on his face. “Remember Rollins?”

The Asset glances at Jack. He doesn’t confirm, but doesn’t deny.

“Let us out,” Brock orders.

Jack holds his breath. He knows now the Asset is James Buchanan Barnes. He was questioned about him. The Asset must know it, too, since he’s now with Rogers. He doesn’t serve Hydra anymore. Why would he listen?

The Asset turns, looks around, notices something that is out of Jack’s view and walks away. Rogers finally notices and follows him. Jack can’t see nor hear what they do. Soon, it doesn’t matter, because the door of his cell opens. For a moment, Jack just stares at it, his heart thumping against his chest so hard he can feel it with his whole body. Then he leaps out of his cell like it’s on fire. Brock’s already waiting for him on the other side with a smug smirk. All hell breaks loose around them, because the Asset didn’t open just their cells, he opened all of them, but when Jack gathers Brock in his arms, he feels like they’re the only people in the world. Their mouths collide, hungry and yearning and smiling, and Jack finally feels whole again.

“We have to hurry,” Brock whispers against his lips.

Jack has no idea how he wants to escape from the middle of an ocean, but he knows one thing.

He’ll follow him to Hell and back.

 

 


End file.
